


lonely star

by fatherwon



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Blood and Injury, Brothels, Collars, Courtesan Kihyun, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Master/Slave, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War, Sex Work, Sexual Slavery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatherwon/pseuds/fatherwon
Summary: it's a delicate balance. the damaged are either stitched back together or ripped further apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably not what comes to mind when you think of courtesan kihyun or perhaps it is, heh. but i drew inspiration from many different sources (mentioned below) and read a lot of material to educate myself on all topics included so [insert prayer hands] treat me nicely 
> 
> by nature this fic contains many sensitive themes so read at your own discretion. i have not tagged everything as to avoid giving spoilers. 
> 
> [moodboard](https://weheartit.com/kihyeoni/collections/159587362-lonely%20star) and [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vweapdfp8ccota84qmxislf4y/playlist/3iS1xWzwTh0DxjXkYFy3Ko?si=42YB2ruKRxuQ9BQHoyVbMw) for this fic
> 
> lots of love for lara and irene for all their support and help ♡ thank you all so much, muwah. ily my babies
> 
> [ inspiration taken from: ghibli studio's spirited away + the weeknd's album 'thursday' ]

There is a boy leaning onto the rolled-down window of Hoseok's car. He is -- well, exactly that. A boy. Barely over twenty, dressed skimpily from head to toe and smelling strongly of expensive perfume.

His lips are painted red and curved into a small smile, sly. Glitter daubs his eyelids. In the moonlight, it sparkles a soft gold and resembles the gleam in his eyes. Sharp, bright and uncontained. There is something in them, a type of knowingness, a look you would catch in the eyes of someone who has seen too much. It makes Hoseok feel oddly at ease, as if he has known this boy for years, but at the same time it sends a chill down the column of his spine.

“Could I get a ride, sir?” The boy chirps through a small grin. His voice isn't heavy, but neither is it light. It hovers somewhere in between and it's soothing to listen to, like small bells tolling in Hoseok's ears in the early morning.

“Do you live nearby?” Hoseok asks, his eyebrows raised.

The boy nods his head in a lazy, deliberate movement. Hoseok's eyes settle on the boy's neck. A length of dark fabric rests over the swell of his throat, a complement to the small hoops and delicate chains hanging from his ears. Its colour is a nuance darker than his hair -- silhouette black instead of rich brown. Hoseok's fingers twitch where they rest over the steering wheel.

The boy seems to shift. He pushes his hips back and leans further down toward the window. Hoseok finds himself licking his lips. There is something about the boy, something dark and furtive that draws Hoseok in close. With a tilt of his head, the boy says, “Just a few blocks down from here. Would you take me?”

Hoseok considers it for a moment. He hears soft tapping as the boy drums his fingers against the window, expectant.

It's late, close to midnight, but Hoseok imagines there are still people milling about further in the city. The mundane. Closing shops and locking up, waiting by to take the skytrain home. Shopkeepers and clerks, middle-class workers. The fortunate ones.

This neighborhood is placed in quieter, sleepier part of town. The closer you move towards the sea, the more hushed, tasteful and expensive it becomes. Steel and glass swapped for tall townhouses and silent, long streets. The quiet is akin to that of the coastline, the quiet Hoseok is used to. But here, it seems more eerie and wicked than back home where it is comforting and lulls him to sleep every night.

While the rest of Incheon has quelled with the passage of time, like all else that fringes the coast, some areas are still rife with unrest. Hoseok has never seen the slums and scant that sit like rubble in the centre of South Korea. The closest he has gotten is by mere folklore, word of mouth. Hoseok has heard stories of disease and penury driving men and women mad with grief; people scrambling for food to put in their bellies; the sick and weary left to die in the wreckage of war.

All talk of Central Korea is a tale to Hoseok. He was raised by the coast, where the rich and able dwell, in a vast mansion that overlooked the sea. His mother was, like many, a slave, collared by a man who reeked of money and sin.

Hoseok doesn’t quite recall why he is here, what he drove out at night for. By the looks of it, he seems to have intended to drive further into the city, which he seldom does. He keeps away from the soft bustle of the mainland, staying closer to the sea where it's open and breathing does not feel like a chore. It’s been a long time, ever since he moved into Black Swan.

But he is here now and he knows well what pretty boys walking along roadsides come looking for. Clients. Money. Men. Anyone willing to take them home for the night and send them off with a generous tip. Sex workers found outside ownership or breeding homes are rare. Such souls have been cast out of the system, seen as unfit to be tamed for service.

The street is lit up by lone street-lamps, many of them flickering in their last moments. They turn the dark air different shades of colour, some lighter, some murkier and dark. Under them, the boy looks like he’s split into two, one half of him merely a silhouette and the other glowing dusky. He blinks, his eyes shining like stars beneath the moon and lamplight. The image bores into Hoseok's mind with meaning. It spooks him.

This boy should be anywhere but walking lonely streets at night. Any auctioneer or master would be out of their mind to let such a pretty face walk free. Not that Hoseok would wish such a cruel fate upon anyone -- he only finds it odd. He eyes once more the black wrapped around the boy’s neck. His eyes narrow and stare.

The boy sighs, loud and with purpose. It reels Hoseok back to reality. The boy licks his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue, eyes fixed tightly on Hoseok. “If you're not interested, sir, you can just say so. I’d rather not waste my time.”

“No,” Hoseok responds quickly, much too fast. He catches himself and clears his throat. “I…”

The boy smiles, pleased. The collar of his shirt shifts over his throat. It slips down a little and bares a flash of creamy, smooth skin. Hoseok’s hands tighten over the steering, steadying. If he were up on his feet, he would teeter and sway. Hoseok is not supposed to pick sex workers off the streets to take back with him. Black Swan and every other house has rules in place for bringing in new residents. But Hoseok finds himself keening now for reasons unknown.

He has been around a fair share of sex workers and slaves. He sees them every day in his wake. Hoseok has spent time in training, learning the ins and outs of fostering boys who are brought in from cruel homes or off the streets. Hoseok's job is to bring them to a new home. A place where they can work safely, be cared for and reoriented to a freer way of life.

The boys -- given the title of  _ courtesans _ \-- at Black Swan are more Hoseok's responsibility than anything else. They are his priority and the sole of his being. New boys are not to be brought in without preamble, for their safety and the safety of the other courtesans.

But this boy is nothing like them. Hoseok feels every molecule in his body being drawn to him, all his instincts telling him to go against what he has been told.

Hoseok finds a small flame in the boy's eyes, a spark that goes out as soon as Hoseok notices it. Hoseok feels the urge -- the need to bring it back. This boy is wearing thin, being rasped down to the bone and Hoseok wishes he could graft back onto him what has been lost.

The way the boy is dressed leaves little to the imagination, but the lamplight overhead is feeble and he seems curtained in dark. A shadow, only parts of his face smeared with glitter to show. A patch of his skin, over his cheekbone, is of different colour. It’s darker -- the way makeup would look over a bruise. Hoseok’s throat dries. He understands too much too fast and it makes his head spin.

This boy isn’t looking for money. Not right now, at the very least. He needs a bed to sleep in for tonight. A roof over his head. Someplace safe to take respite, even if it means having to be bedded first.

Something in Hoseok twists. “I’ll take you,” he decides, and the boy grins wider, showing teeth. The smile he gives tugs at Hoseok’s heartstrings, plays them like a harp. It’s a sad smile, forced, and it’s a sight that sears itself into Hoseok’s brain. He’ll be dreaming of it later tonight and for several nights after.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy chirps and steps back to pull the passenger door open. His hips swivel as he settles into the car seat, the skin above them pulls taut for a brief moment. Hoseok wonders what it would be like to run his thumbs over the sharp crests of the boy's hipbones.

Now sitting next to him, Hoseok can see him head to toe and he feels his fingers twitch again. The boy is wearing a sheer black blouse and ripped skinnies as bottoms. There are more rips in the denim than fabric and his skin glitters through them. Everything about him, save for his skin, is dark. His hair, his choker, his eyes, lips and clothes. He is like the night sky painted in flesh and bone. The moon, bright and silver, hung over dark.  

Hoseok is staring. Blatantly. The boy notices easily and he grins at Hoseok, knowingly. The quirk of his lips is prideful. He knows he's beautiful, terribly so. A sight to behold.

Hoseok looks away and clears his throat. The car engine is still groaning softly. Hoseok never pulled the keys out of ignition. He flexes his fingers over the wheel once and presses down on the gas pedal with his foot. The car begins to roll and in his peripheral, he sees the boy relaxing into the cushion of his seat.

“What’s your name?” Hoseok asks, keeping his eyes trained on the road in front of him.

The boy shifts. He has pressed the tall, chunky heel of his boot against the dashboard, and he fiddles with the tattered laces of his shoe. Hoseok thinks of telling him to put his foot down. The idea of scrubbing dirt off his dash first thing in the morning does not appeal to him. But there is something so beguiling about seeing him like this. He is diligent with what he does and works with his tongue poking out from between his lips. Hoseok feels himself begin to smile. Along with allure and enigma, is this childlike charm the boy has.

The boy chuckles and Hoseok's heart jerks in his chest. It’s a low, soft sound, like the hum of a bird. It reminds Hoseok of the sea at night. Quiet, transient, dark. Next, Hoseok hears the boy say, “What do you want it to be?”

“Whatever’s real. I don’t play these games,” Hoseok answers simply and imagines the boy’s lips pulling into a frown.

Silence descends upon them. Hoseok chews on his lip and watches eagerly as the boy sets his foot back down. Hoseok notices the way he pushes his knees together and drums his fingers over them, like he’s trying to fold into himself. Smaller and smaller. Make himself disappear.

Then, he replies, “It’s Kihyun.” He swallows. Hoseok vaguely registers him lowering his gaze down to his lap. “People don’t usually care much for my name. They call me other things. It wouldn't be rude if you chose not to use it. I am quite used to it.”

There’s a slight tremble to his -- to Kihyun’s -- voice, Hoseok notices. He wonders who  _ people  _ are and why it pains Kihyun so much to say. It lights a fire inside him, somewhere deep. A need to protect, although he doesn’t know what he wants to protect or why. He knows so little about this boy, barely anything. Just his name and the vague knowing that Kihyun spends his time selling himself to people that see him as an object.

Hoseok feels the same sense of duty towards the boys back at Black Swan, but the feeling burrows deeper right now. It's confusing. Hoseok thinks back to the bruise on Kihyun’s cheek, fresh and just coming into full bloom, and feels his heart lurch down to his stomach. It makes him sick.

He shakes his head as soon as images start skittering across his eyelids. Red blooming over skin, in the shape of five evenly spaced dots. Claw marks. Bruising over Kihyun's throat, two deep thumb marks over his trachea.  

“Kihyun,” he repeats quickly to rid himself of the unease clawing at the back of his throat. A smile forms over his lips, trembling and forced. His hands move over the steering as the car rolls around a corner. “That’s a pretty name. It suits you well.”

“Thank you,” Kihyun pipes. Through a smile, Hoseok imagines. “And you? What do I call you?”

Hoseok glances at Kihyun quickly from the corner of his eye. Kihyun is looking at him, sitting twisted around in his seat, one leg folded under him as he sits facing Hoseok. His arm is propped next to the headrest. With a slight glance, Hoseok notices a smudge of black under the sleeve of Kihyun’s blouse, over his wrist.

Thoughts of Kihyun, questions unanswered and speculations, still linger nearby. Hoseok decides it's best to set them aside for now, distract himself, lest he begin assuming the worst of something he knows easily nothing of.

“Hoseok,” Hoseok answers, licking his lips. “You can call me Hoseok.”

Kihyun’s eyes bore into his profile. They sparkle in the dark, too, and Hoseok wonders if they would glitter more if they were wet.

“Hoseok,” Kihyun repeats slowly, his lips moving prettily around the sound. The way he says Hoseok’s name makes the skin and muscle of Hoseok’s body shiver. He wishes to hear it again. In ways other than just softly spoken.

Kihyun is not an amateur. He knows what he’s doing and how to do it. Wherever he comes from, he is well trained and skilled. His sharp attitude only adds to his allure. He has probably beckoned several men into bed with his smooth voice and wicked smile and clothes that show too much skin.

But there are still things Hoseok can’t figure out about him, things that should be obvious. He eyes the choker sitting around Kihyun’s throat again. In the dark, it just looks like black fabric. But there is something that catches his eye. Every time they pass under a streetlight, something sparks over the choker. A glint of silver. Hoseok’s eyebrows furrow.

“You said you live around here?” Hoseok reminds curiously. With caution. He does not want to alarm the boy. He'll probe gently, try to gain answers as Kihyun gains trust and comfort.

There is a hint of a smile in Kihyun’s voice when he says, “I lied. I couldn't possibly dream to afford a place in the suburbs, let alone a place in Icheon. I would be scavenging for food in the slums if it weren't for my circumstances. Not that you would understand. Your car alone says a lot about the money in your pocket.”

Hoseok bites his lip. He remembers his car seats are leather, newly polished, and the car is stamped with a Ferrari logo front and back. Despite his upbringing, Hoseok is not like the ill-fated who are born into sex slavery and become part of it. He has been very fortunate to find an easy, early escape from it, being found by Dasom and brought to Black Swan by Hyunwoo.

They curve around another corner, out of the last folds of the city and into the outskirts by the shore. The skyline of Icheon sits far and small now. Here, it has dissolved into sand and palms and glittering sea. The road slowly opens up into a scarce neighborhood, paved with palms and beach trees. There are some houses sat here and there, lavish and luxurious with sculpted balusters and iron parapets and rolling gardens of green. The homes are tall, tiered with balconies and decorated with moldings that signify wealth and splendor. Hoseok has still not fully accustomed to the opulence of the neighborhood Black Swan is sat in. Nevermind that he has lived here for years and was raised in a neighborhood of similar taste. He grew up only to hate the rich and wealthy.

Kihyun hums contently at the change of view and shifts to lean out the window. The salty, cool breeze ruffles his hair and his eyes slip closed against it. He presses his palms against the top of the door and peers out a little more, his top half poking out the window. Hoseok is quick to reach over and hook a finger into one of Kihyun’s beltloops to yank him back down.

Hoseok looks away again before he can see a small pout form over Kihyun’s lips. “So,” he begins. He takes one hand off the wheel and props his elbow up onto his own window, which is also open. Hoseok’s fingers play idly with the shell of his ear, stopping to rub over the gold ring in his helix. “Any other lie I should be made aware of?”

“Nuh-uh,” Kihyun chirps. “All else I said is true. Especially what I said about me needing a ride. Desperately.”

Hoseok draws in a breath. Kihyun knows he has understood the meaning behind his words, and he chuckles again in content.

“And what about the ink on your wrist?” Hoseok presses.

“Oh, this?” Kihyun holds his wrist out in front of him. He shakes his sleeve down to bare it. Once again, Hoseok sees a small smudge of black in his peripheral. He can’t make out shapes or lines in the dark. “It’s very real. I got it when I was fifteen and it isn't the only one I have.”

_ Fifteen _ . Hoseok wonders what led Kihyun to ink his skin at such a young age. He has a handful of questions, many of which he knows will never be answered, but he still wonders. That he is free to do. Like how he imagines what the rest of Kihyun’s tattoos would look like, wherever they score his body. Deep down in some narrow ravine of his heart, Hoseok hopes to see them someday, if not today. He hums. “What is this one? The one on your wrist.”

“A butterfly,” Kihyun answers. “In flight. It’s rather small, but I’ve always liked it. Do you know what it means?”

Hoseok shakes his head. He can see the dark, blurred outline of Black Swan. In the distance, it looms tall and grand near the end of the road, lit red and orange from the inside. The neighborhood, usually busier at nighttime, seems quiet and desolate today. Black Swan has its doors closed to the public tonight -- Hoseok supposes that's why the night seems languid and hushed.

“No. I don't,” Hoseok begins, thinking of the courtesans and Hyungwon sitting in the parlour, dressed in night clothes, easy and comfortable; Hyunwoo sat at his desk upstairs, scribbling over business papers and sending their weekly evaluations to Dasom. It warms his heart, like the flare of a struck match.

“Tell me,” he urges. Kihyun preens at the request.

He presses his lips together into a thin line and taps a painted fingernail against the ink of his tattoo. His nails are a deep, bruised red, like a black rose. “A butterfly in flight means evolution. Change. It means you have overcome something, become a newer, stronger version of yourself. That's what it means to me, at least. I don't know how other people must perceive it.”

The car slowly comes to a stop. Hoseok pulls up the handbrake and turns to look at Kihyun. His eyes are dark and deep, his lashes sparkle every time he blinks and his cheekbones are smeared with yellow glitter. Hoseok imagines the hungry, ravishing looks people must give him when he walks down a street at night and it tugs at his heart.

And for a moment, Hoseok can see through Kihyun, like he has torn away his walls for a split second to see the brittle bone underneath his flesh. Then they’re back, and Kihyun is leaning closer to put a hand on Hoseok’s knee. His palm feels hot over the denim of Hoseok’s pants. It climbs higher and higher till Kihyun’s fingers brush over Hoseok’s clothed cock. Hoseok bites his lip and grabs Kihyun’s hand, quickly laces their fingers together before Kihyun moves his hand further to cup him through his jeans.

Kihyun only grins, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness of the car. Hoseok shudders and Kihyun gently squeezes at his hand.  

Hoseok swallows. His ears are ringing. “And what did you overcome?” He asks, thinking of Kihyun’s tattoo and the little spot of black it makes over his skin. Again, he thinks of the purple on Kihyun’s cheek and how it’s turning darker as the night passes. Kihyun's makeup does little to cover it.

Kihyun taps his index over Hoseok’s knuckle, and Hoseok peers up at him in response. There’s a glint in his eyes, a dull shine. It’s sad almost and something else sparks alongside it. Regret. Compulsion. “Maybe you’ll find out,” he whispers. “One day.”

Hoseok swallows again, thickly this time. Kihyun’s eyes are piercing, his voice webs Hoseok into a loop, and his hand is so soft and so warm, worn with years of rough handling and maltreat. Careful and mindful, Hoseok moves Kihyun’s hand to rest in the boy’s lap instead. It earns him a puzzled look from Kihyun. Kihyun pushes his knees together instinctively, like a cat that has been denied praise or a desired bowl of cream.

“Kihyun,” Hoseok starts, calm and steady. Kihyun’s eyes perk at the sound of his name, like a heedful kitten. His manner is oddly feline, endearing with a stroke of poise. Alongside, there is this undeniable tone of fearfulness. It pains Hoseok to see. “I am not going to sleep with you,” Hoseok finishes.

Something shifts in Kihyun’s eyes, Hoseok notices. The way water lurches up when its hosting glass tips off a countertop. Kihyun draws his lip in between his teeth and chews at it, his hands forming fists over his thighs. “What?” He asks. His voice quivers, like fingers do when they’ve kept an arrow drawn for too long.

“I am not going to sleep with you,” Hoseok repeats.

Kihyun's jaw clenches, as do his hands. He looks around the neighborhood they are parked in, quick and swift. He looks past the greenery, the sea reflecting in the windows, the outlines of the homes that loom nearby and the street-lamps until his eyes settle on Black Swan. His line of sight travels up, from the wrought iron gates to the gardens and the large double doors behind, the many tiers and the shadows that move behind curtained, lit windows. Hoseok feels time slow down as the colour drains from Kihyun's face and his breathing stops. Next, Kihyun is scrabbling for the car door, for a quick, desperate escape.

Hoseok is quick to catch Kihyun's wrists within his hands, his touch gentle. When Kihyun whips around to look at him, his eyes are blown wide, stricken with fear. Hoseok can feel Kihyun's pulse racing under his fingertips. He rubs his thumbs over the crests of Kihyun's wrists, soothing. Hoseok cannot begin to fathom what is going through Kihyun's mind **.**

“Hey,” he calls, soft and sweet. Kihyun seems to have turned to stone in Hoseok's grasp. Hoseok wonders if he can melt him back into smooth gold. “Kihyun, it's okay.”

Kihyun's hands have gone completely still, his eyes round and wide and his mouth slightly open. Hoseok wishes he could see Kihyun's emotions flicker across his eyes, but all he can see is fear. And the response to it is what pains Hoseok the most. The way Kihyun has frozen, leaving himself fully in Hoseok's hands, accepting whatever is to come.

Hoseok shifts his fingers over Kihyun's skin and presses softly on his wrists before letting go. “I won't hurt you,” he assures. Kihyun only swallows in response, eyes still unblinking. “I know what you're looking for,” Hoseok presses, his line of sight falling to the patch of discolour on Kihyun's cheek.

Kihyun realises soon enough what Hoseok means and he hurriedly raises his fingers to cover his cheek. He licks his lips, eyes dipped down. “It's not what you think,” he mutters.

“I don't think anything,” Hoseok says. He undoes his seatbelt and pulls his car keys out of ignition. “All I know is that you need a bed to sleep in for the night and for that you are willing to give up your body to anyone who is interested.”

“You are not interested, then?” Kihyun snips back. The fire in his eyes burns again, a dull blue flame instead of raging orange.

Hoseok regards him for a moment before opening the car door and stepping out. The car jolts as he pushes the door shut and walks around to the other side. He stands by the passenger door and pulls it open, peering down at Kihyun. A mean frown is still knit into the boy's brow. Hoseok feels a smile pull at his lips.

“Not in bedding you, no. I only want to help you. Will you let me?” Hoseok asks, a slight smile on his lips. He extends a hand towards Kihyun, palm facing up, open.

Kihyun stares at it blankly, unsure. Hoseok can see the struggle scurry across his face, brows furrowing, the fibres tensing under skin that is visible. Slowly, Kihyun brings a hand up to Hoseok's and let's their palms meet. Hoseok's smile widens, content, proud. He can imagine Kihyun letting his hand rest in Hoseok's feels like giving himself to a stranger, naked and bared to the bone. It is like plunging into unknown waters rather than dipping toes, but Kihyun jumped regardless.

Hoseok helps Kihyun onto his feet and leads him past the gates of Black Swan and inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clearly i dont care that i still have four more exams left ha ha ha ha ha ha. im sorry if this was confusing or practically useless, i will update again v soon after im done editing the next chap !!!!!!!!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! :o i just couldn't resist posting more m soRRY HNNN. its just a little peek at the world through kihyun's eyes :^)

Kihyun does not register much. His mind is fuzzy, his vision blurred. He knows Hoseok is holding onto his hand and he wiggles his fingers in Hoseok's palm to confirm. The throb in his temples has not receded, it only creeps and festers as time ticks by.

Kihyun keeps his footsteps light behind Hoseok as they tread through the house. He keeps his head down, shoulders tucked into his sides and body tight, like he is trying to curl into some small corner of his mind. He does not look around much, for he cannot see straight anyway. His vision swirls and roils. 

They cross what Kihyun assumes to be a parlour and his nose twitches at how ripely it smells. Wisps of herbaceous smoke. Incense and sandalwood. Such woodsy scents are unfamiliar to him. Bitter cologne is all he is used to smelling -- on himself, his clothes, skin, the sheets, the very walls and floorboards. 

Kihyun's mind remains woolly, disconnected, as Hoseok leads him through the house, up a spiral of stairs. They keep climbing. Kihyun feels like he is ascending to the skies. 

The stairs uncoil at the first landing, the first floor. From further down the hallway, Kihyun vaguely hears the chime of laughter, loud yet muffled and sweet, like birdsong at the crack of dawn. On most mornings, he is not allowed out of his master's chambers. Breakfast is brought to him by the help, that too only if he has been obedient.

Seeing the world during the day is a feeble privilege, one Kihyun craves for. Escaping during the dark of night when he is able, as he has now, is all that keeps him grounded. Kihyun does not know what dark recesses of his mind would sink nails into him and claim him whole if he didn't leave when given the chance. And he hopes he never has to know.

Now, Kihyun can hear voices. Soft muttering and the sound of dinnerware clanging. The murmur helps him reorient himself to the present. In the moment, his mind cannot fathom what goes on behind the closed doors of this home. Such sounds and feeling are unknown to him.

The home he comes from is quiet, eerie. The walls and rooms remain empty throughout the year and the air stays stale with the spectre of screams and husky growls, promises that were never kept. It feels like poison in Kihyun's lungs, still stinging if only by memory. 

Hoseok gently tugs at Kihyun's hand and they resume climbing up the staircase. Kihyun follows after like an amenable child. They reach the second floor and tread down a dark hallway, this one quiet and seemingly uninhabited. Kihyun's focus only swirls fully back into being when he hears a door falling shut behind him and then feels Hoseok helping him perch atop a bed. 

The room is dimly lit. Kihyun can vaguely make out the lines of Hoseok's shadow shuffling about. Hoseok continues to rummage through a chest of drawers and the storm in Kihyun's mind thickens. He unfurls his palm over the bedsheets beneath him. Satin. The blood in his ears roars. All the pieces fall into place. 

He has been picked off the streets and brought to a quiet, lavish home by a man -- creatures of greed and vice. They are not capable of helping anyone. And Hoseok seems to be a someone with money and power, Kihyun assumes, by the state of dress he is in, the look of his car and his home. Obviously, no matter what front is put up, Kihyun has been brought here to be bedded. That is all. 

Kihyun thinks back to the voices he had heard downstairs. He had heard not one, but many, all belonging to boys. They all sounded youthful, the boys probably not much older than Kihyun himself. Is that why Hoseok lives in a house this vast and big? Because he has a houseful of slaves in his possession? He seems much too kind and giving to be a master.

Hoseok returns to the foot of the bed with a towel and a fresh pair of night clothes. He offers the choice of cotton sweatpants with a loose tee against a dressing robe, in pale blue silk. "You can take your pick, change into one of these for the night. Jeans are not the most comfortable to sleep in.”

Kihyun regards the clothes and then Hoseok. He is standing close enough for Kihyun to be able to see the lines and slopes of his face. He notices Hoseok's line of sight travelling down from his eyes to stop over his neck. Under Hoseok's stare, the leather of Kihyun's collar feels like it's coiling around his throat. The buckle burns his skin coolly. Something flashes in Hoseok's eyes and then they return to look Kihyun in the face. 

A spark flutters in Kihyun's eyes. He rises promptly, his knees trembling under him. He does not let them buckle, no matter how hard they shake. In his chest, his heart pounds and hammers. Hoseok watches carefully as Kihyun takes the clothes from his hands and dumps them behind him, on the bed. Then, Kihyun does what he is best at -- what he has been trained to do. Serve. Please. Obey. Whatever that keeps him from being rousted and touched with harsh, mean hands.

He slithers a hand up Hoseok's chest, shaking still, his eyes glittering, and leans closer to kiss him in one swift, practiced movement. His eyes slip closed and he kisses with fervour, cupping Hoseok's jaw in his palms. 

He waits. For a response. For hands grabbing at his hips, leaving bruises, pushing the sides of his shirt up, hustling him onto his back on the bed. But Kihyun gets none. A frown knits into his brow and just as he begins to open his eyes, Hoseok draws away with a soft, wet sound and regards Kihyun with care, his own brows furrowed. 

Kihyun's lips are red and rubbed raw. His fingers tremble, now at his sides, and he feels a fist tightening around his throat from the inside. He feels vulnerable, confused, like he has been torn open for the world to see. He doesn't quite understand the feeling, but it makes his stomach roil and his heart clench. The pregnability he feels at home is of different nature. There, he is coerced and bound, made to do things despite himself. Even when he is raw and tired, spent after hours of use and maltreat, he must do what he is asked or accept whatever he is given. Now, he is being given a choice. He doesn't have to please this man to earn favour or mercy, if he doesn't truly want to. He is being given it anyway. That is something new and unfamiliar to him. Even as a child, you fear the unknown. Steer away from it. And Kihyun is scared now, doesn't know what to expect. 

"Kihyun," Hoseok begins, his voice a centre for Kihyun to ground himself. Anchor his spiralling mind. Hoseok sounds wounded, but in a strange way, as if he is not hurt himself but hurting for another. For Kihyun. It only adds to the squall in Kihyun's mind. He is confused by so much and understands even less. 

"Kihyun, you don't have to do this," Hoseok finishes.

Kihyun licks his lips. His throat feels dry and parched. He narrows his eyes. "Do what? I only did what I am supposed to, no?"

Hoseok shakes his head softly. He takes a step forward. Kihyun takes one back. He sighs. "I told you. I did not bring you here to bed you."

Kihyun's eyes quiver. They dart from corner to corner of the room. He cannot make out shapes or colour any longer. All he sees is light and dark and then Hoseok, standing before him with sad eyes. Kihyun doesn't understand many things. Why he is here; what this place is exactly; who Hoseok is and why he feels so much for Kihyun already. There is a longing deep inside him, something that tells him be should have stayed home. Feeling numb and sore is what he is used to. This is all too much -- too new, too intimate, too unfamiliar. 

"Kihyun," Hoseok calls again.

Kihyun chews at his lip and slowly lifts his eyes to meet Hoseok's. They are big and brimful of worry. Kihyun feels like he might sink into them and he tears his gaze away again.

Despite him, Hoseok continues, "I know this isn't what you must have been expecting and that's alright. I just want to help." He steps closer once more and reaches forward. Kihyun flinches in place and gasps. Hoseok shushes him softly and reaches behind him to gather the forgotten clothes back into his hands.

He holds them out for Kihyun to consider again. "You need someplace to sleep. I know that much. So let me give you what I can, Kihyun. Please."

Kihyun looks up at the mention of his name. Hearing it from another's mouth is a new feeling. He is still unused to it. Hoseok says his name with such care, something Kihyun has not known since he was a child and sold for the highest bid to a man of ferity and brutal nature. Hoseok is unlike all other men Kihyun has come across. He is kind and giving, with a heart that spills onto his sleeves and palms. In his presence, Kihyun feels oddly safe. In this home, whatever it may be, he feels safe, cloaked from the rest of the world and the shadows that lurk outside.

Hoseok has no reason to help Kihyun. He has the ability to do as he pleases. Hurt Kihyun, beat him until he is weak and pliant, tie him up with a plug in his ass and leave him in a dark room to whine and cry for quarter, push him onto all fours and take him dry and raw. But here he is, offering Kihyun clothes, aid and a bed to sleep in. All for no personal gain. It warms a part of Kihyun's heart but also spikes in him a feeling of dubiety. In all the villainy and vice he has come to know, is it even possible for there to be such good? In books, Kihyun has read of the calm that follows a storm. Sunlight spearing through cracks between thick, grey clouds. But all that only exists in fairytales. Kihyun has barely ever felt the warmth of the sun kiss his skin.

"Why?" He asks, wilfully, his voice small and hollow in the vastness of the room. "Why would you help me?"

"This is what I do. I help people who are in need. People like you," Hoseok explains. Kihyun's frown only deepens. Never has he heard of such a thing -- giving aid to boys who are enslaved and broken into submission. "I can explain more in the morning, if you like. Show you what I mean, for the better part. But for now, you must sleep, Kihyun. Rest." Hoseok sways the clothes in front of Kihyun to regain his attention. "You'll be safe here. You can trust me. That I can promise you."

Kihyun breathes in deeply. He eyes once more the clothes Hoseok is offering him and gingerly reaches for the silk robe.

Hoseok smiles, pleased. "There is a bathroom you can wash up in." He points to a door to the side, cracked open slightly. A sliver of yellow light peeks through. Kihyun is reminded once more of parting storm clouds and small rays of sunlight creeping through gaps in the curtains in the morning. "The room is yours to use. I'll be right next door if you need me."

Hoseok moves toward the door. Kihyun's heart races in his chest again as his eyes follow Hoseok's retreating form. Quickly, he asks, "You won't be sleeping here?"

Hoseok stops and looks back at him and Kihyun curls his fingers into the silk of the robe in his hands, like he is bracing himself. But whatever he expects doesn't come. Instead, Hoseok only smiles. Easy and sweet, the way Kihyun has noticed comes natural to him. In his chest, Kihyun's heart settles and melts at the edges.

"You're already quite shaken. I wouldn't want to impose on you any more," Hoseok explains simply. 

He looks at Kihyun so fondly, with so much care it burns. Kihyun quickly ducks his eyes and nods, timid. He understands and almost feels a smile pulling at the corners of his lips

"Alright, then," Hoseok says quietly. Kihyun hears footsteps receding and then a door creaking open. He feels cold and alone already, but his heart is warm, beginning to thaw. "Goodnight, Kihyun. Sleep well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes clearly i care so much for the fact that i have an exam next week whooooooo. i know this was short m sorry but i'll be back with more soon :^) updates will be regular yayayayayay


	3. Chapter 3

Morning comes and Hoseok raps softly at Kihyun's door before entering. The room is as he had left it last night: untouched. The bed is made, every wrinkle smoothed from the sheets and the pillows fluffed, the curtains drawn. There is no sign of someone having slept here, except for the clothes Kihyun wore last night laid out on the bed. Hoseok's heart pounds at the implication. 

Did Kihyun slip out after Hoseok left him? Impossible. Hoseok recalls having locked the main doors and all other entrances with the master key before bed.

The windows, he thinks. They can be unlatched and lifted open. Maybe, Kihyun crawled out during the middle of the night. They are on the second floor but it's not undoable. There are ledges and balconies, all to-- 

The bathroom door creaks open and out walks Kihyun, his skin clean and fresh, his hair a rumpled mess, standing up in clumps over the back of his head. The makeup is removed from around his eyes and from his lips and cheeks, the sickly bruise under his eye now bared and stark for the world to see. Hoseok's heart twists. In the morning light, it looks darker and vile, pales Kihyun’s skin out even more. Again, so many questions skitter through Hoseok’s mind, but Kihyun looks up at him, paused in his attempt to shed his robes. The ties have been unwound from around his waist and the silk only sits over his front, loose and unheld.

They stare at each other for a moment. Kihyun frozen in place, hands stopped where they reach to undress himself, and Hoseok staring back, deep into Kihyun's eyes. They pull at him, like strings jerking puppet limbs into place, and Hoseok cannot look away. There is something so peculiar, so disparate about Kihyun. He is unlike anyone Hoseok has stumbled upon. Stark, like a wildflower in a field of roses.

Kihyun blinks and ducks his eyes, the response shy and meek. Hoseok regains himself and clears his throat. His hands feel useless and empty at his sides. By instinct, he sweeps his hair back from his face with his fingers.

"Sorry," he begins. "I didn't realise you must be changing. I can leave, if you like?"

Kihyun shakes his head. He floats over to stand by the bed, where his own clothes lay, his guise from last night. "You don't have to," he responds with the same practiced lure to his voice that Hoseok heard time after time yesterday. It only takes a wingbeat for Kihyun to slip in and out of the two skins he wears. One moment he is slight and delicate -- makes you afraid to touch him with hefty hands -- and the next, he is teasing in speech and action, winding his target up like a clock that's set to go off.

Kihyun isn't troubled by the thought of being seen naked. He is used to it, probably been disciplined to bare and offer himself from a young age. But Hoseok's job is to shatter such habits, remove what is toxic and harmful. He doesn't exit the room, but instead turns his back to Kihyun to allow him his privacy. Then he says, “You must be hungry. I don't suppose you've eaten?"

Kihyun does not respond. Hoseok doesn't even hear the soft rustle of clothing he expects. Only silence. Thick and smothering. His stomach churns.

Hesitant, Hoseok takes to looking back at where Kihyun stands by the bed. Their eyes meet once more and Hoseok's line of sight slowly trails down to stare at the bared skin of Kihyun's shoulders and collar. The sleeves of his robe pool around his elbows, the silk slipping from his frame. The skin of Kihyun's right arm is painted with more ink, but in colour. Shades of red and green and threads of black that coil and swirl to form a trellis of roses. It curls and weaves along his arm, till the tendon in his wrist. It's a mystery as much as it is beautiful, just like the butterfly on his other wrist. Just like Kihyun himself.

Suddenly, the garment seems much too big on Kihyun. It is mostly cloaking, but it falls past his knees, pleats thickly around his middle. The sight is enticing. Luring. Hoseok's fingertips simmer with warmth. Kihyun's skin is smooth, the colour of milk. Hoseok images what it would feel like under his fingertips. Supple. Velveteen. The tops of Hoseok's cheeks flush with colour at the notion and he quickly turns away once more. 

“I'm only partially undressed. You act as if you have caught a glimpse of me naked," Kihyun's voice chirps from behind him, teasing. Hoseok can almost hear the smile in his voice. He hears Kihyun shedding his clothes now. The robes hitting the floor with a soft thud. Denim raking over the skin of his thighs as he dresses himself.

Hoseok clears his throat. The sound vibrates through the quiet of the room. “I won't stare at you, partially undressed or fully.” 

Kihyun stops shuffling about behind him. There's that silence again. It creeps beneath Hoseok's skin and settles in his bones. “Do I repulse you that much?” He hears Kihyun speak, voice small and quiet as it had been last night after he had kissed Hoseok.

Hoseok's heart feels tight, like all its muscle pulled taut at once. He turns to face Kihyun, full body. “That's not what I mean," he responds. 

He watches for a moment as Kihyun draws the sleeves of his blouse over his palms. Beneath him are the robes he just shed, pooling at his feet in a coil of blue. Kihyun looks small, like a kitten curling in a corner in fear. Naturally, Hoseok only wants to smooth down the hairs over his back, pet and stroke his nape till he keens and settles. But something tells Hoseok not to fall to his usual tactics. Kihyun isn't like the boys he has come by. This particular kitten-- Hoseok will have to wait for him to come close instead. 

So Hoseok tests the waters. He takes a step closer, mindful. Kihyun flinches in place but does not move away. Hoseok lets loose the breath he was holding. He strides over to Kihyun with slow paced steps until he stands in front of the boy. Kihyun's hands tremble. He digs his fingertips into the chiffon of his blouse.

"You asked me last night -- why I'm helping you -- and I told you it is my job. You have been mistreated and hurt. You are beautiful, Kihyun." Hoseok reaches timidly for Kihyun's hand and eases his fingers open with his thumbs. Kihyun watches Hoseok's hands closely, alert, fearful. Hoseok releases his hold and dips them into the pockets of his own dressing robe. "But you being beautiful doesn't mean I will take advantage of you. It doesn't mean you are a toy to be sold and used as someone else pleases."

Kihyun looks up at him finally, his eyes flickering up to meet Hoseok's. Slowly, like a fire whipping into a tall flame. A frown knits into his brow. He searches Hoseok's eyes for a moment, lips parted, hands fisted tightly by his sides. The white over his knuckles deepens as seconds tick by. "You know nothing then," he says finally, resolute, his words a spear driven through Hoseok's chest. Hoseok is brought to wonder once again what horrors have been imbued in Kihyun's soul, what shadows dart behind his closed eyelids.

"I might not know everything, but I can understand some things," Hoseok begins. His line of sight returns to settle on Kihyun's neck. The collar he bears is a soft yet heavy weight around his throat. From where Hoseok stands, the edges of it seem to dig into Kihyun's skin, almost like the buckle has been wound too tight. Collars as an accessory must not feel like much, Hoseok imagines, but the weight they carry in meaning must be crushing. They are a symbol of possession. No matter how unfettered the collared feel, they never truly are. Not as long as the leather sits buckled around their necks.

By instinct, Hoseok reaches and brushes his fingertips over the buckle of Kihyun's collar before he can even stop himself. Kihyun gasps softly and Hoseok watches the skin of his neck shift, like he is flinching away. But Kihyun remains still otherwise, his eyes blown wide as he stares at Hoseok, watching, wary. He looks fearful as he had last night and Hoseok's heart breaks. 

He withdraws his hand and Kihyun's breath returns to him. "You don't have to leave," Hoseok offers softly.

Despite himself, Kihyun scoffs, rolls his eyes. They still quiver from moments ago. He must have been expecting a bout of rough handling from Hoseok. A tug, maybe. Or a harsher pull to bring him down onto his knees perhaps. After all, Hoseok had touched his collar. The one thing that binds him to a life of servitude. "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "This was a mistake. I have to leave."

"Kihyun--"

"No," Kihyun spits back. His eyes have fire in them when he looks at Hoseok. But it burns sad and blue. A flame that is dwindling in its last moments. "You don't understand."

"You're a slave. What more do I need to understand," Hoseok says plainly. The skin of Kihyun's jaw tightens.

Kihyun shakes his head. He looks away, his eyes searching the floor beneath him. The haste in his eyes is like the sea roiling under a storm. "I have to go." 

"You-" Hoseok watches, helpless, as Kihyun spots his shoes near the door and races towards them. How does he mean to get home -- wherever that is. Will he walk to the closest station, catch the skytrain back? Or will he walk the entire distance? Even in broad daylight, for a collared boy to walk streets alone is like climbing down onto the tracks before a charging train. It's running towards danger instead of avoiding it. Stupidly. "Do you want me to drive you?"

"No!" Kihyun yelps, his eyes unblinking, his form frozen in place. He regards Hoseok for a moment with wide eyes and then turns back to doing his laces. He tries again, "I mean, no. Thank you. I can hail a cab."

Hoseok's brows furrow. He takes a step closer to where Kihyun stands, his own stomach bubbling and clawing. Everything around him swirls. Kihyun seems to recede further into the darkness as Hoseok nears him, tries to reach out. The stab he feels in his gut burns. It's miserable. "Do you have money?" He asks despite himself.

Kihyun has moved to stand by the door, his side facing Hoseok. From here, Kihyun's cheek and the bruising over it is in full view. His hand gathers into a fist by the doorframe, his jaw clenching. "I'll …. I'll think of something." 

It takes a moment for the words to sink into Hoseok. Then, he understands. His heart speeds up in his chest, the sickly feeling in his stomach now rises to the back of his throat. If there is anything more perilous than walking about town unaccompanied, sucking a cab driver off as payment is akin to dancing on the edge of a high cliff. The skin of Hoseok's nape shivers. "Kihyun, I don't think that is the safest--"

"You don't know me or anything about me," Kihyun snaps, his tongue sharp and mouth full of fire like always. His hands are shaking now, trembling like bones in the cold. Hoseok wishes he could ask him to stay, but Kihyun is desperate to leave. Keeping him any longer would cause more harm than good, it seems. "I've done far worse than suck some grimy man off for bail. That is the least of my worries."

"Alright," Hoseok relents. "I'm sorry." 

There is a moment of silence, as eerie as it had been before. Thick and palpable. Hoseok wonders for a moment whether Kihyun's heart is pounding the way his is right now. He doesn't get to find out.

Kihyun clears his throat, his palm now wrapped around the door handle. His form is tense, his shoulders a straight, taut line. Kihyun says he wants to leave but his body clearly defies him. His voice is small when he says, "I...I should go now." 

His lips pull thin and he licks over them once. His hand tightens over the door handle and-- 

"Wait!" Hoseok calls. His voice startles Kihyun where he stands, jolting slightly in place. In haste, Hoseok procures a pen and a scrap of paper from his bedside drawer and scrawls onto it his number. He feels Kihyun's stare burning two holes into him as he nears him and holds the paper out.

Kihyun eyes the paper for a moment and then takes it, unravels it, stares blankly at the numbers scribbled. His brows furrow. He tries to keep a straight face but Hoseok can hear the shift in his breathing and see the flicker in his eyes. "What is this?" 

Hoseok swallows. His tongue has swollen and become cotton in his mouth. He cannot help Kihyun the way he wishes to -- Kihyun will not let him. For this to work, the slaves Hoseok is to aid must hold out their hand and ask for help. Hoseok knows well the complications that would arise if he were to do as he pleased and neglect Kihyun's word. But he knows if he doesn't do whatever else he can, he will not be able to catch a wink of sleep tonight or for the nights to follow. He says, "Just...call me. If you need anything or even if you don't. I want you to call me."

Kihyun stares down at the paper in his hand and blinks, his face unchanged.

"Kihyun?" Hoseok urges, prodding for a response.

Again, he doesn't get one. Kihyun only peers back up at Hoseok, for the last time, and says nothing. The colour in his eyes has dulled, the spark in them fizzled out. They say the eyes are windows to the soul, but Hoseok can't see past them. Kihyun's soul is heavily guarded, fortified with walls upon walls of concrete. If Hoseok ever does manage to peek through, it only lasts for the bat of an eye. 

Kihyun reaches for the door again. Hoseok's eyes never leave him. When the door falls shut and Kihyun has vanished from his sight, like fine smoke, Hoseok truly feels his heart being sucked out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just hold your panties for a little while longer.............the good stuff begins in the next chap


	4. Chapter 4

Hoseok watches one of their eldest courtesans from a chaise in the parlour. His eyes follow Minhyuk's form as he guides Sewoon through the process of serving potential patrons. Sewoon trails after him like a puppy, his hands clasped behind himself. In Minhyuk's hand is a golden tray, balanced over his palm. It's set with tall glasses, filled with water for the demonstration. Minhyuk's other hand rests over his hip, and he speaks alongside his movements. 

Sewoon has spent a little short of one month at Black Swan. He is fairly new, still undergoing training and becoming comfortable in the new environment. Hoseok had discovered him in a damp, dark alley in some forgotten part of the city. The poor boy had been fending off a burly, middle-aged man, who was persistent to get his paws on him. Amongst other courtesans in the house, Sewoon had been the youngest, until recently when Hyunwoo had come home with two younger boys he had stumbled upon at an auction. The younger is sixteen years of age and the older eighteen.

There are two types of workers at Black Swan. There are those who are of menial status, the younger boys. They offer company to patrons and serve drinks in the parlour, coax them with sweet words and gentle touches to become regulars. Then there are the courtesans that take bookings -- the ones who work as prostitutes, experienced and skilled. They serve patrons in lavish private rooms on the ground level, adjacent to the parlour. Black Swan is home to six courtesans in total. Two who strictly work in the parlour and three who work the private rooms as well.

It's late in the afternoon. The boys are preparing for the evening: lighting candles, picking out incense and fragrant oils to burn, choosing what to wear amongst themselves. Soon, they will leave for their rooms to get ready. Today, Hoseok is watching over them, tired as he is. On most days, Hyungwon joins him in keeping an eye on them and making sure they don't get into any tussles, but he's asleep in his chambers today. Hoseok vaguely remembers seeing Minhyuk toeing down the hallway upstairs and slipping into Hyungwon's room last night, and he assumes that's the reason behind it.

Everyone at Black Swan knows of Hyungwon and Minhyuk's relationship, and what they get up to whenever they have the time and are away from prying eyes. Hoseok sometimes suspects residents of other houses might know too. Not that he minds, none of them do. It is something that is welcomed and adored in the house.

Hoseok watches closely as Minhyuk shakes his hair away from his eyes. The collar of his shirt slips down his shoulder and Hoseok spots a mark over the side of his throat, its edges beginning to purple. He knows it's Hyungwon's work and not that of a client. Minhyuk doesn't let his clients mark him where visible. Hoseok feels a small smile form over his lips, but then it's gone as soon as it comes. All of a sudden, he thinks of purple blotched high on cheek; of concealer covering poorly its visage; of Kihyun.

Kihyun and his pretty, glittering eyes, the rose in his cheeks and the sharp lines of his body. He thinks of Kihyun's laugh and how his smile turns sad as soon as it forms. The fire in his eyes and how it burns blue instead of angry and orange. Hoseok imagines what it would be like if Kihyun were here, if he worked at Black Swan and slept in one of the chambers they have upstairs. Hoseok likes to imagine Kihyun's smile would stay longer if he left his master and unbuckled the collar from around his neck.

It has been over a week since Hoseok brought Kihyun into Black Swan and later watched him slip from between his fingers. Since then, he has not been able to sleep a wink. On the backs of his eyelids, all Hoseok can see is Kihyun. How small and feeble he had looked, bare and in his natural state of dress. The tire and fear in his eyes. The tremble in his fingers. The sharp, set line of his jaw and the hollows of his cheeks. 

One week has passed. Kihyun is gone from sight but has left prints and pieces of himself in the depths of Hoseok's mind. Not one moment passes that Hoseok does not think of him

“You seem distracted,” a voice calls from beside him, thick and gravelly. Hoseok turns his head and there is Hyungwon, ruffled and freshly roused from his slumber. He has come downstairs in pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, barefaced, and his hair is rumpled and messy from sleep, like a fluffy, ashy cloud. 

Hoseok grins at him, teeth and gums. Hyungwon sits next to him on the sofa, legs folded under himself, and the leather squeaks from the friction. 

“You're one to talk,” Hoseok teases. He brings a hand up and brushes his thumb over the side of Hyungwon's throat. The spot he touches is a deep purple, a hickey having begun to form and darken overnight, mirroring the mark on Minhyuk's neck. “It seems you spent your night very well.” 

Hyungwon shrinks into the couch. “You get to tease me every waking second you spend with me,” he grumbles. “You don't have to turn the attention back on me the one time I try to talk about you, Hoseok.” 

The skin under Hyungwon's eyes is glowing and fresh. It's a pleasant change from how grey it used to be. Hyungwon has looked more alive ever since he let Minhyuk take a step further into his life, and Hoseok is truthfully happy for him. Minhyuk is a ray of yellow sunshine in the house. He keeps the halls and corridors warm and full of laughter, and he keeps Hyungwon happy with his fleeting touches in public and warm smiles over breakfast. 

“I don't mind talking about me. I just find you and Minhyuk to be absolutely adorable,” Hoseok says, bringing his hand back down into his lap.

Next to him, Hyungwon hums, quiet. But Hoseok can see the smile forming over his lips. Hyungwon's eyes are on Minhyuk and he watches carefully as Minhyuk glides across the room, a tray balanced perfectly on his hand. Sewoon has begun to follow Minhyuk's movements more smoothly now. He's still a bit gangly with his gestures and the glasses on his tray shake sometimes when he walks, but he is more swift on his feet now. 

Hoseok thinks of Kihyun again. Every time he blinks, he sees Kihyun walking around the parlour in small flashes, like lights in a photo booth. There one moment and gone the next. He sees Kihyun in purple silk bottoms instead of shredded denim, bright gold and pink over his eyelids and cheeks. The Kihyun he sees sports a delicate lace choker -- pink in colour -- around his throat. His collar is gone and so is the tremble in his eyes. Here, he's unshackled and free, and as he serves patrons, he turns to smile at Hoseok whenever he's able. 

Hoseok loves Black Swan and he loves all the boys they have here. It is his home and the people here his family. But truthfully, in the little time they spent together, the few hours Hoseok gave to Kihyun, Hoseok has come to care for him more than he does for any of them. Kihyun has dug himself a little burrow, deep in Hoseok's heart and now all Hoseok can see, feel and think of is Kihyun. The lone, strange boy who cajoled his way into Hoseok's car and left behind his shadow and his soul the next morn.

“Hyungwon,” Hoseok begins, pulling gently at one of the drawstrings of his hoodie. The metal casing at its tip is cold to touch. Hoseok is immediately reminded of how cold and icy the buckle of Kihyun's collar felt. When Hyungwon hums again, Hoseok continues, “I want to bring someone in.” 

Hyungwon turns to look at him, his brows furrowed. His eyes flicker over Hoseok's face for a while, then he says, “Someone. From another house? When did you--” 

“Does it matter?” Hoseok waves away. “I want to help him. He doesn't deserve to be where he is right now.”

Hyungwon sighs. He sits up straighter and turns his attention fully to Hoseok instead, his eyes round and stern. “None of them do, Hoseok. None of them deserve to be bound and hurt the way they are. But we can't bring in people as we please. There is a system in place for bringing in new boys in. You know this.” 

Yes. Hoseok knows. Better than anyone, perhaps. The rules are in place to protect the residents of this home and others. They are to be followed and seen through at whatever cost. Hoseok sinks into the couch. He drops his gaze down to his hands and remembers the ease with which he had held Kihyun's wrists. His fingers had curled fully around and if he wished, Hoseok could easily hold both of Kihyun's hands in one of his own. He smiles fondly at the thought. But alongside, there comes a sting. Gentle. Lingering. 

“He's not like the others, Hyungwon," Hoseok whispers, his heart warm, but his hands cold and empty. 

“What makes him so special?” 

Kihyun's smile appears in Hoseok's mind again and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest. What Hoseok wouldn't give to see him smile once more, longer and with colour.

He looks back up at Minhyuk and Sewoon, Minhyuk now pressing his palm here and there to better Sewoon's posture. Kihyun's training seemed immaculate, every word and gesture of his precise and practiced. He moved slow and with grace, like water in a calm stream.

Hoseok breathes deeply and lets a smile form over his lips. He says, “Everything.” 

.

It happens one fateful night when the sky is thick with storm and the city drenched and wet. A dreary night, ripe for all shadows and dark to roam the streets.

It is well past midnight and Hoseok is sat in the common room with three of the boys and Hyunwoo. Sewoon is sound asleep, tired and spent from the evening; Hyungwon and Minhyuk have long retired into their bedchambers (Hyungwon's, for tonight). In Hoseok’s company, there is only Changkyun and the youngest two, Jungmo and Minhee. They sit by Hoseok's feet, next to the couch, Minhee gently brushing knots out of Jungmo's hair. Changkyun is curled beside the fireplace. It is doused, but he sits in front of it regardless, book in hand, thin wire glasses perched on his nose. 

The room is quiet. Save for the occasional rumble of thunder, the rattle of windows that follows, Jungmo humming softly a broken, old tune, the crisp sound of paper crinkling every time Changkyun turns a page. Hoseok's body is tired and worn from countless nights of lost sleep. His skin has lost colour, his bones ache. Sleep evades him every night. When shadows move in the dark of his chambers and horrid images of Kihyun flash over the backs of his eyelids. But here, now, after a fortnight, Hoseok feels the exhaustion at his heels and it begins to swallow him whole. Hoseok lets himself drift.

As soon as his eyes fall shut, he sees Kihyun again. But this time, his skin is not sickly pale, his eye is not bruised. He wears a soft hoodie, oversized on him, and flannel bottoms. Hoseok sees Kihyun crouched next to the sea, just a short distance away from the house itself. His feet are bare and he wiggles his toes as they sinking into the soft sand beneath him. Kihyun looks back over his shoulder and he smiles. Directly at Hoseok. A full smile. His teeth bared and his cheeks dimpled, his eyes glittering like the sea. Hoseok almost believes it is real. 

Then, beside him, his phone buzzes. Loud. Frightening. Lightning cracks the sky outside, clouds roaring with thunder moments later. Suddenly, the tire wipes away from him, like the tide washing away rubble and all that sits along the shore. Hoseok's heart pounds. A sick feeling bubbles in his stomach. 

He does not recognise the number but picks up anyway, waits for a response, blood roaring in his ears, skin turned cold.

All turns quiet as Hoseok waits for a response, save for the drumming of his heartbeat.

 _"H-Hoseok?"_ Comes a voice from the other line, muffled and small. Familiar. It sends a shock down his spine. He straightens from his recline, catching the eye of Hyunwoo and the boys by his feet. From the way they look at him, Hoseok imagines the colour has drained from his face.

"Kihyun?" There is a beat of silence. The hollow in Hoseok's chest grows. He prompts, "Kihyun? Is this you?"

On the other side of the line, there are other voices. Soft and quiet, in the back. There is a shuffle. Someone scuffling about. Then Hoseok finally hears Kihyun speak, _"Y-Yes. Hoseok. I need you. Please."_

Changkyun has forgotten his book on the floor beside him now, his eyes trained on Hoseok, wide and moony behind his glasses. In his peripheral, Hoseok can see Hyunwoo. He is saying something, mouthing words of concern. But Hoseok can all but hear anything else, the storm in his head too loud. "Where are you, Kihyun?"

Outside, beyond the walls and windows of the house, the sky splits open with another spear of lightning. Hoseok's skin pebbles. 

 _"I…"_ Kihyun's voice trembles. He is barely audible. _"I managed to make it a few neighborhoods away before the storm thickened. They...they let me call but. Please. I don't want them to start asking questions. What if they have him take me back?"_

Hoseok has risen to his feet by now. Minhee and Jungmo stare after him; Changkyun calls out to him softly; Hyunwoo voices his worry. Hoseok responds to none of it. Simply moves towards the door and trots down the stairs. Miles away, Hoseok can feel the tremble in Kihyun's voice and see the quiver in his eyes. Runaway slaves bring fine rewards to those who see them returned to their masters. Hoseok's breath catches in his chest at the notion.

Hoseok has no knowing of what has happened. Whether Kihyun is hurt, in trouble, being chased. Whether he is safe. It's pouring outside, wet and cold and dark. The sea roils under the storm, as does Hoseok's mind. For now, little as he knows, he must get to Kihyun. Hoseok digs a hand into his pocket to fish for his car keys. "Tell me where you are," he says, phone pressed snug against his ear. "I'll come get you."

 _"It's-"_ Kihyun pauses. A gulp is heard. Hoseok imagines him licking his lips, swallowing. His mind concocts viscous musings. Thoughts of Kihyun being found, dragged home through the rain by his scruff; Kihyun being thrown to the streets in the wake of a storm. Hoseok shakes them away. This is not the time. 

"Kihyun," Hoseok says again, more urgent this time. Before his eyes, he can almost see Kihyun jumping in place at the raise in voice. His heart softens. "Where are you?"

Kihyun exhales into the phone. He answers, _"It's a diner, I think. Maratokki. Not too far from where you are, I suppose. The sea smells close."_

Hoseok tries the name in his mouth, quiet. "Don't leave. Stay right where you are, Kihyun. Do you understand?"

There is a beat of silence. Thick. Palpable. The storm has silenced outside, only the patter of rain hitting road to be heard. Hoseok imagines the quiet won't last for long. It seldom does whenever the coast is slammed by storm. 

In the quiet of it all, Kihyun's voice suddenly sounds loud and clear. He affirms, _"Yes."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short n rly NOT sweet but i've been super busy and )): felt bad for not updating


	5. Chapter 5

On most nights, this part of the coast remains rife with crowd and business. Shops and diners and stores stay open through the night, owners attracting men with the boys they keep collared under their hand. Some leashed and others free to roam and please bypassers. Hoseok remembers vividly the evening he spent at one of the bars here. Both floors were worked by enslaved boys, all in various states of dress. Some dripping with jewels, their collars made of diamond, glinting sharply under spotlights, and others of seemingly lower status with plain bands of leather around their throats.

Hoseok later came to learn of the motive behind such activity. Advertising auctions. Having slave boys charm unsuspecting men, cast spells on them with glances and light touches, to later be purchased from the hands of their owner. Masters earn a pretty penny selling boys off for a fortune. It's a sick trade, Hoseok believes, rooted deeply into the society like rot and filth.

The very high streets that are known to remain astir throughout the seasons are now silent. Desolate. Cast with shadows and drenched in rainwater. Paper lamps hanging along roofs and doorframes are doused, curtains of every club and parlour drawn, no stalls spilling out onto the road, not a soul to be seen around. Hoseok avoids glancing at the inner alleyways. If he stared long enough, he fears his mind would lead him astray with visions of tall shadows darting about, bony hands scraping along brick. This place, even lit up and lively, makes Hoseok want to crawl out of his own skin.

The diner Kihyun's direction has led him to is small and quaint, near the end of the street. By the looks of it, it does not belong here, or even in a world this sick and cruel. It seems born out of a screen or a children's storybooks. Perhaps in another life, a place like this could have been owned by Hoseok's mother, passed down from her own. Hoseok can see himself working the front counter, greeting customers with a smile, looking out to hear the bell chime from atop the door. He would have come by Hyunwoo, Hyungwon and the boys in more mundane ways. Perhaps if the war just stayed a possibility not reality, Hoseok would get to lead a simple, plain life.

From afar, the diner recedes into shadow. Quaint and demure as it is, it seems ghostly and abandoned like the rest of the street. Hoseok’s stomach twists when he imagines Kihyun having fled from here too. Or worse -- being taken. His heart thrums in his chest as he nears the door. His breath shortens, his hands tremble.

When Hoseok enters, he tracks rainwater and grit in, hair plastered to his forehead and face wet. His bangs hang long and low over his eyes and his coat sticks to him. The diner lights glow dull and pink overhead. Shadows are cast across the tiling beneath his feet and along the walls, the air thick with the smell of dampened wood and something sickly metallic. It makes Hoseok's stomach roil. The hairs on his nape have risen.

Walking in, he has caught the attention of two people tucked behind the counter, an old ajumma and a young boy, perhaps Minhee's age. They seem startled, the colour drained from their skin, their eyes moony, like they have seen a spectre. In a storm and city like this, Hoseok imagines feeling frightful isn’t so wildering.

Water trickles down Hoseok’s face. It sends a shiver down his spine. He observes the two for a moment, about to speak, ask if they have seen a boy -- seen Kihyun. But their line of sight naturally shifts before the words form on Hoseok’s tongue. They look to the side, further into the diner, toward the corner of the shop. Hoseok follows and his heart turns to stone in his chest as he registers what he is looking at.

Kihyun sits curled in the farmost booth, knees drawn into his chest, his arms wrapped around them, snug, like he wants to fold into himself. Disappear. His clothes stick to him like a second skin and he is trembling, still soaked from the rain. A hood is pulled over his head, his face tucked between his knees. Hoseok cannot see him properly, but his insides have begun to twist and curl into thick, black knots. Something isn't right. Hoseok feels it ripe and thick in the air around them. The smell of metal grows stronger -- smells coppery now. Hoseok feels his dinner clawing up from his stomach.

“Kihyun,” he calls softly, like he is touching delicate porcelain. His voice barely carries.

Kihyun's form shifts under the clothes he wears. Hoseok knows he has heard him. Then, Kihyun lifts his head slowly, only enough to peek past the tops of his knees. Their eyes meet across the floor and Hoseok's stomach twists again, like a cloth wringing itself dry.

Hoseok is fast on his feet. He covers the distance between them, drops to his knees beside Kihyun, onto the floor. Kihyun's eyes follow him closely, shaking. Even beyond the shadow of his hood and the hair falling into his eyes, Hoseok can see them. Wet. Wide. Brimful of fear.

Hoseok regards him with care. The clothes Kihyun wears are drenched, smelling of sea and rain and something Hoseok cannot recognise. But it makes his stomach lurch. The material of Kihyun's hood pools around him and hangs heavy. Underneath, Kihyun is nothing but a mass of bones, shivering and delicate.

"It's alright. I'm here now," Hoseok says again, soft and slight. He raises a hand, hesitant, careful not to startle the boy before him. Slowly, he comes to rest his hand over the back of Kihyun's head. Kihyun does not flinch, but makes a sound. It's meek and quiet. Hoseok's blood turns to ice in his veins. Just as he begins to lift his hand away, Kihyun's eyes flutter closed and he leans back slightly against Hoseok's palm.

The ties in Hoseok's belly unravel. He lets himself breathe. Kihyun's eyes flutter shut and he rests calmly against Hoseok's hand, almost as if he is falling asleep to a lullaby.

"I offered help," a voice rings out from behind, filling the air. Hoseok turns to find the ajumma looking their way, eyes sad and pooling with worry, the lines around her mouth deep like the ravines in Hoseok's heart.

"He refused, however," she continues, referring to Kihyun. "I couldn't do much else but let him stay here till he needed," she explains, the boy next to her as pale and frightened as before. Her face is wrinkled and old, creased with the long passage of time. It is late in the night, much past business hours. Hoseok aches with guilt, knowing they have plagued them with such scare at this time.

He offers a smile, apologetic. "Thank you," he says. "You've been very kind."

The woman smiles back, her eyes crinkling at the ends.

Hoseok turns back to Kihyun. "Let me see your face," he says to him, brows furrowing. His hand curls around the base of Kihyun's skull, urging him to look up.

Kihyun whimpers, hesitant. His fingers curl tighter into his jeans. "Can't," he answers meekly, his voice muffled against his knees.

Hoseok's fingers hook under Kihyun's chin, soft, and he strokes the side of Kihyun's jaw with his thumb. Kihyun whimpers again. Dampness begins to pool under the pad of Hoseok's thumb. It is not thin and watery like rain, but thick. Congealed. Slick. Hoseok feels clawing in his stomach again.

Slowly, he retracts his hand, holds his palm open to examine his fingers. The air around him begins to cool and condense, coil around him as his vision adjusts to the change in view. The skin of his hand, the tips of his fingers are coated thickly with blood. Fresh and new and ripe smelling, like it has just been shed. It has seeped into the whirls of his fingerprints and beneath his fingernails.

When Hoseok looks back at Kihyun, he is looking right at him. His eyes shine bright and fearful, his fingers turning white where they are wound into his pants. He waits expectantly. What for -- Hoseok does not know. But he can see the fright in Kihyun's eyes, glittering like the sea under moonshine. While he is safe, no longer in any peril or danger, the trauma and distress he has beared through must be fresh in his mind, rooted into the soft grey matter there.

Hoseok brings both his hands up to Kihyun's face. He lowers his hood down, ginger and slow for Kihyun to stop him if he wants. He doesn't. Only waits.

The diner lights cast darkness onto Kihyun's face, his skin grey and colourless under them. Hoseok's eyes take everything in piece by piece, all the chips settling into place one at a time. His chest tightens, like his ribs and muscle are trying to crush his heart to pulp.

Kihyun's eyes are tired and weary, red and puffy. His chin and jaw are stained from the blood that has slithered down and dried there. The side of Kihyun's mouth is torn open, his lip split and swollen. The skin around it has begun to darken, the blood under thickening and clotting. Around Kihyun's eye, there is heavy bruising. Purple and blue and gashes of red blooming under his brow and beside his eye. His cheek is cut into, as well. Split open, deep enough to bare bone. Blood trickles in thick rivers down the side of his face.

Hoseok eyes the wounds slowly, his heart shattering little by little as the seconds tick by. He feels his insides go hollow, being sucked into void, and then he feels rage, blazing through him like a searing inferno. His fists clench by his sides, eyes shaking. He wishes to put his fist through whatever beast laid his hand on Kihyun. Hoseok knows very little of Kihyun and his life, his story, who he is. But he has come to feel for him the way he would for the boys under his care back home.

Kihyun must notice the tremble in Hoseok's eyes, as he reaches for Hoseok's hand. Hoseok watches Kihyun's small, bruised fingers hold onto his own. He almost smiles, but his heart is speared through and weak.

"I'm so sorry," Hoseok breathes. He raises his eyes to meet Kihyun's. They sting and feel full. His heart feels empty. But Kihyun -- Kihyun's eyes still shine, the spark in them buried deep under rubble and hurt, but still there. Still alive. "I shouldn't have let you leave, I--"

Kihyun shakes his head. He says defensively, "Stop." He blinks, his eyelids heavy over his eyes, like he is trying to fight off any bouts of sleep. He has lost much blood, Hoseok would assume, and that's just telling by his face. Hoseok does not know where else he is hurt.

The unscathed corner of Kihyun's mouth lifts up only a nuance. He says, "Thank you for coming."

Hoseok huffs out a breath, squeezing Kihyun's small, worn hands in his own. His heart sinks. Kihyun's skin is soft, like a newborn's. Pure and innocent, to be preserved and kept from the darkness that cloaks the world. The more Hoseok thinks of it, the less Kihyun seems to belong in a setting and place so foul.

Hoseok has come across many things in his life -- grim and awful things. He has seen his own mother being beaten lifeless in front of his own eyes, her face unrecognisable after her master was done with her. Blood gushing from slit throats in heavy torrents, staining floors, turning the air sick. Needles being stabbed into skin to inject viscous chemicals. Pills and powders being mixed into drinks and forced down the throats of unresisting boys working at bars and clubs. Men dragging children into dark alleyways and using them for unthinkable things.

Kihyun belongs near none of it.

Hoseok breaks the silence between them first. He eyes Kihyun's small, curled form, the way his clothes stick to him wetly. "We should get you into some dry clothes," he says and begins to rise to his feet.

He shrugs his coat off his shoulders. The outerwear is wet to touch, but warm and dry on the inside. It should keep Kihyun from catching his death in the soaked clothes he is wearing.

Hoseok wraps the coat around Kihyun, fitting it around his shoulders. It swallows him whole. If the circumstances allowed, Hoseok would have smiled, fond. But his heart only hurts as he watches Kihyun regard the article for a moment and then reach carefully for the lapels. His fingers curl into the front of it and Kihyun pulls it snug against himself. Upon closer inspection, Hoseok notices blood dried beneath Kihyun's fingernails, crusted in the swirls of his fingerprints.

Kihyun peers up at Hoseok. All colour and life is drained from his skin, it looks like it is barely clinging to his skull. But Kihyun's eyes still simmer, like coals growing cold in blue flame. "Thank you," he whispers. The tremble in his voice goes straight to Hoseok's heart, pierces through its muscle and spears through the rear of his ribcage.

He smiles gently and holds out his hand, unfurled for Kihyun to take. "Let's get you home, Kihyun."

.

Minhyuk has already risen to his feet and he draws closer as Hoseok emerges into the parlour, dripping and soaked from the rain, an unfamiliar boy curled at his side. Hoseok's arm is wound tight around him, and the boy looks shaken, his skin pale, the clothes on his back engulf him whole. Minhyuk fears he might tumble to his knees if Hoseok were to let go of him.

Behind Minhyuk, the rest have congregated. Hyungwon and Hyunwoo not far behind, the younger four curled together by the foot of the chaise. From far, they cannot see much. The boy's head is ducked, hair curtaining him from view. But as Hoseok draws closer, Minhyuk can see clearer. He sees blood, bruising, fresh wounds. His blood turns cold.

Minhyuk's eyes flicker over Hoseok. Then the boy he holds. He swallows. Pressure has begun to pool behind his eyes. "Hyung…"

"Not now, Minhyukie," Hoseok responds quickly. He continues to make his way through the parlour, not sparing a glance. An explanation is owing, but it can come later. Minhyuk is reminded of this when the boy shakes harder against Hoseok's side, his fingers catching at the sleeve of Hoseok's damp dress shirt.

Minhyuk makes to step closer, offer aid, but Hyungwon stops him with a hand to his wrist. At first, Minhyuk flinches at the touch, but soon relaxes when he realises it is only Hyungwon. He watches, brows furrowed, as Hoseok ushers the boy past the parlour and leads him up the staircase.

The parlour remains silent. Not a word spoken. Not a breath heard. It's unsettling. This house in particular is not famed for its quiet, but the absence of it. Their hallways are always filled with laughter, seldom are they tranquil. The boys keep the house warm and alive, buzzing with life. Residents of other homes envy this one in particular for its frolicsome nature. The silence that lingers now is eerie. Unfamiliar. It clouds like thick mist, sends chills down Minhyuk's spine.

He huddles back, closer to Hyungwon for comfort. For warmth. Familiarity. Hyungwon is swift to wrap Minhyuk in his arms, pull him snug against his chest. He is confused, scared. As is everyone else, Minhyuk assumes. Hoseok never keeps things hidden. At the very least, Hyunwoo is made aware of anything of such calibre. Minhyuk's mind wanders and he curls further into Hyungwon to bar himself from viscous musings.

Hyungwon holds Minhyuk tighter, strangely calm. He does not seem appalled like everyone else. Seeing Hoseok in such haste with a mauled, small boy at his side will leave scars. Changkyun will probably remain shaken, terrified, but quietly bear the fear he feels. Sewoon will seek Minhyuk out in the dark of the night when he is unable to sleep. Minhee and Jungmo -- Minhyuk worries for them the most. But Hyungwon seems to show little surprise, as if he knew this was to come. He is one of the overseers, holds much responsibility, but even Hyunwoo has been rocked off his feet. Meanwhile, Hyungwon is still with unusual sangfroid.

The pieces fall into place. Minhyuk swallows. “You knew,” he whispers, loud enough only for Hyungwon to hear. The tremble in his voice wracks down into his bones. Hyungwon only holds him closer, says nothing.

.

Hoseok brings Kihyun to his bedchambers on the top floor. Kihyun has begun to shiver next to him, his teeth chattering softly. He grinds into his jaw to keep them from making sound. The clothes he wears have stopped dripping. Now, they have grown cold and stick to him like a skin of ice. He needs a change of clothes, a warm bath maybe to thaw in. But the wounds dealt to him must be cleaned first.

Hoseok procures a first aid kit from the ensuite and tends to Kihyun there. Kihyun moves to perch atop the sink counter, presses his palms flat against the marble to hoist himself up. He lifts up off the ground and his knees buckle under him just moments later, his bones unable to bear the weight.

Hoseok is quick to catch him before he drops to the ground. "Careful. You're still weak," he reminds, arms wound around Kihyun's back, holding him up.

Kihyun nods feebly against Hoseok's chest, understanding. He leaves himself and lets Hoseok help him sit. His hands cling to Hoseok's sleeves as he is lifted up, ginger. He winces softly at the movement but is able to settle. Hoseok wonders where else he bears wounds, whether any of his bones need to be set, if anything is broken.

Hoseok's hands come to rest over the sides of Kihyun's thighs. He gives Kihyun a meaningful look. "Good?" He asks.

Kihyun glances at him quickly and ducks his eyes just as fast. He nods meekly, Hoseok feeling his skin beginning to pool with warmth. He feels he might never get used to Kihyun's different facets. He can be so many things. Raw and bared to the world, vulnerable and pliant under anyone's hand; sharp and heedful, spikes grown out of his skin to defend himself; sultry, resistless, the flame to which all are moths. Hoseok wonders what other layers hide beneath Kihyun's skin and if , with time, he would be granted assent to peel them away, slow and one by one, reach what Kihyun keeps guarded and hidden within himself.

Now, before him, Kihyun is slight and trembling like a leaf in the wind. Hoseok wishes he could shine a light through his eyes, chase out all the shadows and darkness he has seen, cleanse the ache and pain from his skin. He hopes one day, Kihyun will be well and happy like a bruised bud coming into full, hearty bloom over a series of summers.

For now, he worries about cleaning Kihyun up.

Hoseok works diligently, careful. He uses a small towel to wipe the sticky blood from Kihyun's skin first, where it has dried and congealed and turned thick. The blood has trickled along Kihyun's neck and down his chest, past the confines of his clothes. Through the tight neck of his hoodie, Hoseok cannot gain access. He tends to what is visible to him first.

Hoseok begins with the gash in Kihyun's cheek. It is deep and gnarly, oozing blood still. Glimpses of bone peek out from where the skin is split. Hoseok's gut coils into itself. The sight of it is scarring. Perhaps as a child, Hoseok might have twisted away and hurled his stomach empty, but he is immune to it now. Though, he still feels qualmish growls pulsing through the depths of his belly.

Besides the cleft in his cheek, Kihyun's lip is to be tended to along with the smaller tears in his skin. Hoseok applies salve to every wound he finds, Kihyun's eyes squeezing tight in response. Hoseok is gentle with his touches, but the sting must still be rattling, he imagines. The cuts are brutal and dastardly, flesh and meat bared through where the skin has been ripped apart.

Hoseok dips his fingertip into the torn flesh by Kihyun's lip and Kihyun jerks against him, hissing through his teeth. He does not make a sound besides that, Hoseok notices. He bears through the pain.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay," Hoseok shushes gently.

Kihyun's hand drifts forward to curl into the front of Hoseok's shirt, his eyes still closed, teeth bearing down on his bottom lip. Hoseok rests a hand over Kihyun's, slips a thumb between his fingers and palm, feels Kihyun tighten his grip around his thumb in response. He says, "Just bear with me for a moment. The wounds are deep."

Kihyun nods, the skin of his lip beginning to pale where his teeth sink into it. Hoseok looks at him for a moment, then resumes. He coats the gouge by Kihyun's lip thickly and then carefully binds each wound with gauze pads. The smaller ones he lets be. They might bleed again, Hoseok knows, and the bindings will have to be changed. Until the broken skin is able to heal, this will be the norm.

Hoseok leaves the bruising around Kihyun's eye untouched, only applies cool cream to help with the pain. It will heal in time. Instead, he lets his fingers catch in the hem of Kihyun's hoodie. "Can I ask you to take this off?" Hoseok asks carefully. He raises his eyes to meet Kihyun's, hopes Kihyun can understand he is safe here and miles and leagues from harm.

Kihyun nods, patent, and raises his arms slowly to aid. He winces softly at the motion and his arms rivet in place. Hoseok's brows furrow in response as Kihyun lowers them back down with care.

"What's wrong?" Hoseok asks. The calm was short-lived and his heart begins to beat faster within his chest.

Kihyun is quiet. He blinks, his brows twitching and fluttering ever so slightly, the skin of his jaw and forehead pulling taut. He is hesitant, Hoseok can tell.

Cautious, Hoseok reaches for Kihyun's face to hold him by the chin and gently coaxes him to meet his eye. Kihyun obeys, pliant under his hand, chews on his lip as soon as their eyes lock.

Kihyun had not spoken of injury elsewhere, but Hoseok must check anyway. To make sure. He only hopes nothing is broken and no bones need to be set. Better yet, maybe it is just the ache of bearing so much toil and trauma that is beginning to spread through Kihyun.

"Where does it hurt?" Hoseok asks again, softer, more gentle, his voice lost between them. Kihyun's eyes flutter shut. He is shivering beneath Hoseok’s touch.

His chest lifts as he breathes in, his ribs and spine quivering, his eyes immediately squeezing tighter. Hoseok catches movement from the corner of his eye and looks to find Kihyun trailing fingers up his torso, slugged and slow. His fingertips come to rest over the side of his chest, near the base of his ribcage. He dips his fingers into a groove he finds there and hisses through his teeth at the pressure, his fingers quickly curling back into his palm.

"I...I think it's broken," he manages.

"Fuck," Hoseok breathes. As a child, Hoseok had cracked a rib. It was painful. Awfully so. His vision speckled with stars and bright white lights upon the break. Many times, had he blacked out from the pain while he healed. Even painkillers did not aid in any way. With such fractures, time and rest are the only healers. He gives Kihyun a meaningful look and continues, "You must be careful with yourself. I don’t want you hurting yourself any more. Lift your arms for me as much as you can. I'll help you."

Kihyun nods, obedient. As promised, Hoseok helps Kihyun out of his hoodie, mindful of the injuries on his face and the break in his rib. It peels off with some tugging and effort, but they manage. Hoseok tosses it to the side, its weight heavy in his hand from the water it has soaked. It thumps against the floor when it lands and leaves a sick taste in the air. Along with the smell of rain and wet cotton, is something else. Something stronger, richer. Heavy in scent. It spears through Hoseok's stomach, shoots up into his chest, leaving everything in its wake to coil and shrivel into itself. It's the same smell of copper he remembers from the diner. Thick and sickening. His heart pounds, rattles his core.

With care and haste, Hoseok allows his line of sight falls back onto Kihyun. His eyes land on Kihyun's bare chest, the bruisings and swelling dappled across papery skin, then briefly trail up to the dense weight of the collar around Kihyun's neck. Beneath it, the skin is pinched and spattered with more marks in the shape of four evenly spaced dots.

Just then, something catches Hoseok's eye beyond Kihyun, blurred and red. Hoseok's breath catches in his throat, his heart now coming to cease in his chest, his blood turning to ice in his veins as it dawns upon him what exactly he is looking at. Past Kihyun's shoulder, in the mirror, Hoseok can see Kihyun's back being reflected at him riven with welts, deep and angry, many of them still raw and bleeding thin trails of blood, the skin around them torn. Hoseok chest aches, every one of his ribs cracking apart and slowly stabbing through his heart, one by one, with every lash he examines.

"Kihyun," he breathes, unable to say much else, as though the air has been punched out of his lungs.

Kihyun looks him in the eye for a short moment. Then, his gaze falls down to his lap. His hands are clasped loosely over his thighs, fingers laced. He presses them together till they turn white. The fall in his face leaves a bitter taste in Hoseok’s mouth. Kihyun almost looks ashamed, bare and open for Hoseok to see.

Hoseok breathes in, his core trembling. He reaches for Kihyun’s face once more and cups the side of his jaw. Kihyun shivers, but this time, from the cold touch of Hoseok’s skin. "Can you turn around for me?" Hoseok asks, stroking the swell of Kihyun’s cheek with his thumb.

Kihyun nods again, meek. Hoseok retracts his hand as Kihyun moves to slide off the counter, gritting his teeth at the motion. Hoseok quickly surges forward to hold onto Kihyun's arm with one hand and steady his back with the other, careful of his wounds. Kihyun grips tightly onto Hoseok's shoulder for balance as he is lifted off and helped down, slow, with much care.

Hoseok raises his eyes for a moment to check on him, gauge if he is alright. He glances up and Kihyun is looking at him with bright, glossy eyes. Unlike all other times, Kihyun face is unmasked, the veil he draws over himself pulled away, and Hoseok can see. The fright in Kihyun’s eyes, the terror, but then there is a gleam of faith. Unspoken words telling Hoseok he trusts him.

And then Kihyun smiles faintly. It lasts for only a moment and then he peels his eyes away, Hoseok's fingers fillings with warmth where they touch Kihyun's skin.

On his feet, Kihyun is able to stand on his own with some effort. Hoseok holds onto him till he steadies himself, then allows Kihyun space to turns towards the mirror, back to Hoseok. Their eyes meet through their reflection and Hoseok sees something flash across Kihyun's eyes. Then, he is leaning back towards Hoseok, curving his spine in a little, allowing Hoseok a closer look at the marred skin on his back.

The gesture is small but heavy in meaning, filling the hollows in Hoseok's heart. His fingers tremble as he cleans up the blood from Kihyun's skin. He tries to steady them while applying the salve and binding the welts with gauze, careful not to touch too harshly. The wider lashes are what worry him. The flesh around them is sundered and would need stitchings to pull it together and have healed. Hoseok hopes the broken skin will mend on its own in given time, without the aid of needles and surgical thread.

Next to Hoseok's feet, rags have piled. Soaked with water and blood that has already begun to smell stale and ripe. The tiling beneath them is stained too, the marble turning a deep cherry, blood beginning to crust between the cracks. The air is thick with the smell of herbal medicine and the coppery taste of blood.

"That will stain," Kihyun pipes from in front of Hoseok.

Hoseok looks up from the gauze in his hands and traces Kihyun's line of sight to the bathroom tiling, where the rags lie, bleeding onto the marble.

"Doesn't matter. It can be cleaned easily," Hoseok responds, turning his attention back to Kihyun. He resumes where he left off -- pressing gauze bandaging onto the more vile lash. Kihyun hisses at the pressure as Hoseok smoothes over the pad with his thumb. "You on the other hand…"

Hoseok steps away and they remain as they are for a moment, Hoseok behind Kihyun, gazing at him through their reflection. In the blur of everything, Hoseok thinks he never got to truly sink in the feeling of seeing Kihyun again. He lets his eyes roam, over the broken skin of Kihyun's back, the purple blotched across his chest and neck, the swelling and injury on his face. Hoseok's blood boils.

"How could he do this to you?" He finds himself saying. He breathes it into the still air around them, every fibre in his chest pulling taut to tear.

Kihyun's fingers curl over the counter space in front of him. What he says next -- Hoseok knows it will crawl into his dreams at night, haunt him with soft whispers and ghostly caresses in his sleep.

"This isn't the worst of it," Kihyun answers. "This was a mercy."

.

It has been a few hours since. Hoseok has long scrubbed the bathroom clean and helped Kihyun into dry clothes -- a hoodie and sweats. They are his own and fit Kihyun too loosely, swallowing him whole. Now, Kihyun is curled on Hoseok's bed, passed out from exhaustion. He sleeps peacefully on his side, his hands balled into small fists by his face. The way his eyelids remained heavy throughout the night, how he could barely shoulder his own weight -- Hoseok's heart aches knowing just how tired and worn he must have been.

Hoseok has lain the covers over him and douses the bedside lamp. There is still much he does not know, but answers can come later, he reminds himself, slow as needed. For now, Kihyun is resting. He is safe. Hoseok, too, can rest now. Fall asleep without the fear of being tossed and turned in bed by thr shadows in his mind.

He steps out of his bedchambers, leaves the door a crack open behind himself. He himself is tired, has finally begun to feel the weight in his bones and the pull in his eyelids now that the adrenaline and fright has washed away. Kihyun is asleep in his bed, so Hoseok will take the empty chambers at the end of the hall for the night.

Hoseok toes down the hall, light in step. The flooring is old wood, worn with time, and it groans softly under Hoseok's feet regardless. It is well past midnight, he assumes the others have long gone to bed and doesn't wish to rouse them. He reaches halfway and is stopped by a hand to his shoulder.

"Hoseok," he hears someone say from behind him. Quiet and low, the voice belonging to Hyunwoo. Hoseok should have expected this. He has tended to Kihyun, helped him into bed, brought him tk safety, but the night is far from over.

Hoseok turns to face Hyunwoo, tire and sleep thick in his eyes. Hyunwoo himself looks weary, his shoulders heavy and hair ruffled atop his head. A pair of glasses is perched atop his nose, his eyes languid behind them.

Hoseok sighs, exasperated. "Can this not wait until morning?" He asks.

Hyunwoo blinks in response. His forehead creases. "I won't keep you long and neither am I going to lecture you. I just wish you would have told me. You know better than to do this, Hoseok."

Yes. Hoseok knows. He has spent years here, under Hyunwoo, under Dasom. He knows the rules like they are scrawled onto his hands, within the lines of his palm. He has seen them play out, for better or for worse. Not everyone can be saved. It doesn't work like that. Hoseok knows and he hates it with every fibre in his body.

Hoseok opens his mouth to speak, to argue, fend his actions. Then, he thinks of Kihyun. The fizzle in his eyes and the marks and bruises on his skin, like the stain of dark cherries on ice. He thinks of the lashes across Kihyun's back and the way he held onto Hoseok when he was in pain, but didn't say a word. His heart clenches in his chest. "I didn't know it was this bad, Hyunwoo. He….he would have died if he hadn't run."

Hyunwoo does not respond. Hoseok sees the flicker in his eyes like a veil drawing over them, or a veil being pulled away. Hoseok knows his words have made an impact and he feels his heart settle. Hyunwoo breathes. "You gave the boys quite a fright. Minhyuk was shaken."

"I know," Hoseok says. "I'll speak to them in the morning. Kihyun, too, he's...he's resting for now. I want him to sleep. He's been through too much."

Silence befalls them. Hoseok finds calm in the gentle howl outside as the wind blows, rustling leaves and rippling the sea. The storm has quelled, the clouds cleared and the sea has become serene and gentle. Hoseok wonders if it is foolish to take it as a mark of good tidings to come.

"He'll be alright," Hyunwoo says finally, breaking the quiet around them. Hoseok raises his eyes to meet Hyunwoo's. His heart warms when Hyunwoo offers him a small smile and steps closer, rests a hand on his shoulder. "He has you. He has us. He's safe now, Hoseok. You can rest your mind."

In the longest time, Hoseok feels weightless. The heaviness he felt bearing down on him, the gloom he felt lurking in the dark of his chambers at night -- he feels it receding.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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